


Eighteen Kisses

by tigersilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chocolate, Dessert & Sweets, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Kissing, M/M, Pining Harry Potter, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Smitten Draco Malfoy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-07-24 10:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16173695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersilver/pseuds/tigersilver
Summary: Harry is being targeted by a very determined and wily Malfoy, a Malfoy with sly hands and a sweet, sweet mouth.





	Eighteen Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[44](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit).
> 
> Dear prompter, this would be the ‘other one’. I was midst of writing you a tome and RL interrupted. Please note that Hershey’s Kisses were not sold in the UK until 2010; Draco would’ve had them imported. They are (gasp!) Muggle, which is just another sign of Draco’s willingness to sacrifice a very great deal, all in the name of love, sweet love. Betaed by the incredible L.

“Potter.”

“…Malfoy,” Harry replied, blearily looking up from his breakfast. He would have said ‘good morning’ as well, but Malfoy forestalled him, imperiously sticking out a hand and helping himself to Harry’s non-fork-bearing one.

“ _Potter_ ,” Malfoy repeated, insistently.

“Erm, what, what?” Harry squawked as Malfoy bent over him, executing a perfect half-bow and laying a delicate kiss upon the back of Harry’s hand, all in an instant.

“That’s _one_ ,” Malfoy informed him, rearing upright with a determined glint in his silvery eyes, and swept off to the Slytherin table, never once looking back. The wanker.

“Okaaaay, mate,” Ron stated calmly after a long moment or two of contemplative chewing-and-staring, during which Harry alternated between gaping at his newly-smooched hand and prodding at the odd little glob of sweet-smelling silver-foil he’d just discovered tucked into his palm, furiously wondering as to what had just happened to his person. “That’s new and different.”

“...You don’t say,” Harry nodded faintly as he swallowed, smacking his lips. Having meantime discovered the silver-foil wrapped lump Malfoy had left him was actually a chocolate. A chocolate, for Godric’s sake! “Huh.”

He then stared at Malfoy for the remainder of breakfast, which was not ‘new and different’ at all.

* * *

“Potter?”

Malfoy appeared at Harry’s elbow in Herbology, silent as the pale-but-haunting ghost he’d been in Harry’s mind these last few months at Hogwarts: always reserved, terribly po-faced and always lurking on the fringes of Harry’s consciousness. Harry jerked about, nearly spraying Malfoy’s pristine robes with potting mix, his poisonous sapling fortunately remaining contained within its repotting spell.

“Potter, thank you,” Malfoy ignored that neatly, murmuring fervently but ever so quietly, barely audible above the sound of Harry’s pounding heart, reverently possessing himself of the Harry-hand he’d not kissed at breakfast and deftly stripping it of its protective glove. “Thank you, Harry,” he said, pressing a set of moist, searing lips straight onto the center of the crease in Harry’s slightly grubby palm. “And...there.” He drew back, eyeing his handiwork critically. “That-- _that_ is two.”

Harry’s eyes widened, so much so they watered, and he felt himself blinking madly. Through the blur of his flapping lashes, he noticed that, oddly enough, he and Malfoy weren’t attracting the slightest bit of attention. Even Ron and Hermione weren’t paying them any mind, happily bickering with one another over their own tiny Tentacula. He also noticed his heart was racing and that there was a definitive interest stirring in his groin.

“Er?”

Draco smiled serenely, which rendered Harry effectively speechless and gawping. For the second time that morning, ta ever so.

“Sweets for the sweet, Potter. _Truly_.”  

Just barely penetrating Harry’s mental fog came a tingle of pressure on his Malfoy-besmirched paw. He  heard the faint rustle of crinkling foil. He smelt the unmistakable odour of... chocolate?

“...?”

“Cheers, Harry.”  

Harry croaked soundlessly, not certain quite what to goggle at first: Malfoy-in-general, Malfoy’s lips, specifically, his newly kissed palm or the funny little lump of candy in it.

But he couldn’t bring himself to utter a single syllable at Malfoy, not one word, neither remonstrance nor encouragement. Dumbstruck, he continued to exist in a strange sort of stasis, even as an apparently well-satisfied and confident Malfoy slipped across the narrow aisle and away back to his own work table.

Harry stared after him, noticing his arse (very fine) and his shoulders (quite broad) only peripherally, and willed Malfoy to look his way with all his might. But the git ignored him, going about his work with only a slightly daft smile on his normally serious face to indicate that anything out of the usual had happened.

After a long minute Harry looked at his own hand again, still aimlessly hanging in mid-air there at the end of his be-smocked arm, and examined it carefully, turning it this way and that. The skin there resonated in a pleasantly magical manner; Harry couldn’t help but feel the the remnants of Malfoy’s mysterious, whisper-soft, burning-hot kiss serving to soothe away his belated ‘fight or flight’ response. After all, no one had noticed the madness and no fuss had erupted. Also, there was still chocolate. Free chocolate. Two, in fact, of that same strange sort Malfoy had bestowed upon him at breakfast.

Glancing about furtively, he unwrapped them, cramming both into his mouth. The little grains of potting soil did nothing to detract from taste of lovely chocolate. Really, Harry decided, he was feeling better already. He peeked sideways at Malfoy again, just catching the stare Malfoy was mostly hiding behind his gloved fingers.

It was...hungry, Harry decided, swallowing down the last of his sweet mouthful and licking his lips. Which was naturally understandable, as they were both teenagers and ergo always in a state of starving. But then again, Malfoy’s Look was maybe not that sort of ‘hungry’ either.

Harry deliberated.

“Er. Thank you?!”

It was a shout-whisper, which Harry did his best to direct only at Malfoy. He wouldn’t have normally but he felt somehow obliged as he regarded Malfoy, busily babying his Tentacula into its new home. Malfoy, who was still--still!--smiling, and who nodded right back at Harry. As if he hadn’t just altered Harry’s bland Eighth Year existence in strange and pleasurable ways.

Harry instantly ducked his chin and studied his own wee poisonous plant. He’d fortunately thought to set it down while he was eating his chocolates. It was only a little lopsided in its new, larger pot. “Ah. R-right, then,” he told it, blushing for no good reason. “I should-- _we_ should; Merlin, get to _work_ , Harry!”    

* * *

“Harry? Harry!”

The hiss in his one ear startled the daylights out of him. Harry had momentarily forgotten that he was in class That was fairly understandable; class was History of Magic. HoM was the third class of the day and existed during that eternal stretch before lunch. Then too, Malfoy was sitting just behind him, close enough that Harry quite fancied he could smell his cologne, wafting his way every time he heard the scritch-scritch of Malfoy’s quill across parchment. And the trace of chocolate, too. All of this was very distracting and Harry was accordingly distracted.

A state which apparently infuriated the best mate seated right next to him. “Merlin’s Beard, Harry, let me see your hand, won’t you?”  Hermione demanded, glaring daggers. She reached right over and helped herself, tugging furiously at Harry’s arm, wrenching his wrist about until she could examine his one hand closely.

Presumably for curse marks or something, maybe even traces of potion, Harry assumed, wincing a bit as his shoulder creaked in protest. Which, while he definitely appreciated her concern--his mates were still looking out for him, even now, nearly a month after Christmas hols had come and gone--in this 'especial case he actually felt just the opposite of being cursed: more like, all euphoric and warm and still tasting that odd milky chocolate on the back of his tongue. And rather aroused, nicely so. Not uncomfortably so, but more in an anticipatory way. But that was hopefully not a thing Hermione would notice.

Ron, however…

Harry chanced a look past her, checking to make sure Ron was still asleep with his eyes open. He was, and Harry returned happily to his musings, even as Hermione whipped out her wand and started casting spells on his hand in a furiously restrained whisper. Harry shrugged. There was nothing to be done till she finished. 

It was, Harry reflected, very strange chocolate. It didn’t taste a thing like British Muggle ones or even British Wizarding ones. Didn’t taste like those really fancy foreign ones Finch-Fletchley had blushingly given him just before Christmas either. No, Malfoy’s chocolates were even more unusual than that Belgian stuff. For instance, there was a little paper tag on each little cone, labelled ‘Hershey’s’. And they looked remarkably like miniature traffic cones, excepting they were silvered, not orange, nor blue or whatever colors the Muggles made them. And it certainly wasn’t a sort Harry’d ever heard of, but then again, this was Malfoy giving it to him, so it was probably extremely posh. Ultra, even.  

“ _Harry_.”

Thinking about Malfoy led Harry to _really_ ‘thinking about Malfoy’. Of course Harry had been watching him, in a not-casual-but-not-stalking-either way, ever since...well, ever since the beginning of term. Looking, more like, since Hermione had reminded Harry one too many times that prolonged staring was rude.  

“Harry!”

And Malfoy looked good. Fit. Fit everywhere. Healthier. Not nearly as haunted. Much more polite and a lot less arrogant. It wasn’t only his fine arse and his translucent eyes and his striking hair that caught Harry's gaze recently, it was his genuinely kind manner with Luna, his steadfast civility to Ron and Hermione, his willingness to help out the lower years with coursework, no matter what Houses they were.

Mainly, though, it was the way in which Malfoy Looked right back at Harry. Constantly, consistently, like clockwork, as if he was attuned to Harry’s stare whenever and wherever.

“Merlin, Harry. Rude much?” Hermione, it seemed, had plenty to say and had apparently been nattering away for a while, given her obvious exasperation. She cocked her head, piercing Harry through with accusing eyes. “Harry, look, are you even listening to me? I said that I saw him, you know--Malfoy. Earlier, in Sprout’s class. I saw what he did to you. And Ron told me about this morning, at breakfast. Harry, I really do think we need to talk this over. While you clearly haven't been hexed or anything--not that I really expect him to do that, but still--Harry, you do have to be careful. Remember what happened with Finch-Fletchley at Christmas? Remember how embarrassing that whole thing was for you both? Harry? Harry!”

Harry shrugged and gently reclaimed his hand. He really, really didn’t. Care to, that is. Er, remember. 

“Well, Hermione,” he ventured, just starting to feel on-edge but also spotting a welcome reprieve out of the corner of his eye, “maybe we do, maybe we don’t,  but no matter what, we can't talk about Malfoy now. Look!” He pointed a finger at the shimmering scroll Binns had just Charmed to unfurl before the class. It was packed with densely written instructions, all of them to do with Goblins. In fact, most of the rest of his classmates were already groaning.  “Seems like bloody Binns just gave us all another twenty-seven inches on that NEWTS material. Oh, wait. Bollocks, that’s just the citations.”

“What? Noooo!” Hermione shrieked, but quietly. She instantly turning her attention away from Harry and zeroed in on Binn’s surprise scroll assignment like a well-trained reading raptor, all the while exclaiming under her breath about the shockingly miserable state of the Library’s resources. “We’ll talk later, Harry, I promise. Just let me--”

Harry waved her on and sat back with a relieved sigh, shaking his head and following her lead, though he jotted down the requirements in a much more desultory fashion. Concentration wasn’t exactly his strong point, at least not today.

Today, after all, seemed to be a day of Kisses and kisses. Harry wasn’t certain just yet about how he felt about Malfoy, or kissing, or free chocolates, but he knew he definitely wasn't ready to discuss it. The intriguing citrus scent of Malfoy hit his nostrils at just about the same moment he realized Malfoy must’ve leant forward.

“Psst! I say.” Quite far forward, as he basically had his sharp chin dug into Harry’s collar bone. “Galloping Gorgons, Potter,” he said, enunciating every syllable right in Harry’s ear. “Fucking _finally_.”

“What?” Harry replied, realizing in passing that he seemed to be saying that a lot to Malfoy recently. But he didn't shrug Malfoy off either. “What now, Malfoy?”

“I quite thought she’d never leave off pawing at you.” Malfoy’s voice, mocking but with a sort of fond exasperation to it, was so close Harry could feel it, puffing against his nape.  “No, Potter, don’t turn your head towards me; Binns will see. Look straight ahead, act like like nothing’s going on. Merlin’s pants, he may be dead, but he's not blind. Sit still, will you?”

“Well. Alright,” Harry allowed, doing his best to relax against the rigid wooden confines of the lecture bench. He felt a bit assailed but it wasn’t necessarily...unpleasant. Malfoy did smell of chocolate and oranges, after all.  “What did you want, then?”

“This.” Malfoy cleared his throat, just a tiny little ‘a-hem!’, and somehow managed to be even more in Harry’s personal space. “Potter, just so you’re fully cognizant,” he went on, managing to sound deathly serious, “this is number three.”

“This?” Harry started to question but then he felt it: an insouciant buss smack into his messy mop, and burrowing--along with the pointy bits of the pointy git, straight through to his sensitive scalp.

And then a second one, and then a third, both of them lingering hot kisses, full of puffy breaths of air and much lip-moving. It was electrifying. The hairs on his nape stood up abruptly. But what had him blinking fast and holding his breath were the abrupt arrowing jolts of magical energy, coursing right through his torso and blossoming in his bollocks.

“Gah!”   

“Shhh!” Malfoy simultaneously flicked his wand tip just by Harry’s reddening ear, and a scattering of the unusual chocolates appeared in Harry’s lap. Three of them, actually. A distant part of Harry wondered why they didn't instantly vaporize from the heat in his crotch.  

“Three, Harry,” Malfoy informed him firmly, “and that’s just the beginning.” He eased his lanky gitishness back far enough away so that Harry regained some breathing space. For that moment he might be able to breathe normally again, he assumed. Still, his newly Malfoy-attuned nostrils detected the faintest trace of that expensive citrus-chocolate-mint-sorrel scent he’d noted before, back in the greenhouse, even as Malfoy shoved up and away from his seat, deftly swinging his bag over one shoulder. “Best prepare yourself,” he admonished Harry in passing, rustling off. “More to come.”

Binns must’ve meanwhile dismissed class, apparently.

Somewhere, a bell was tolling. All about Harry students were gathering up their things and leaving. Harry, mentally cursing his own inattentiveness, never mind the fact that he was physically incapable of standing up, stiffly cranked his head ‘round to check that no one had noticed their interaction, what Malfoy had bloody well done to him. Read ‘Hermione and Ron, in particular’.  

This entirely _suspect_ interaction. Kissing, candy, nuzzling, for fuck’s sake! Harry shook his head over it, quite hard this time ‘round, as if to dislodge the troublesome thing entirely. His urgent erection took pity and was kind of enough to subside to simply a low-level fullness. But he wasn’t quite fast enough stuffing the sweets away in his bag.  

“Harry!” Hermione halted her progress past him, just long enough to whisper fiercely. She surveyed Malfoy’s little gifts with an eagle eye, arching a peremptory brow at them.  “Harry, I did tell you we needed to talk, didn’t I? And, what’re those, then?” she demanded, indicating Harry’s latest allotment of shiny conical confectionery. “More gifts from Malfoy, I see. That’s awfully suspicious of him, Harry--don’t you think so? You do remember the fuss we had with poor Finch-Fletchley.”  

“I, urgh,” Harry gurgled, scrambling up at last and making ready to go. “Um, ah...Maybe?” He shrugged, regarding the chocolates he’d scooped up. Merlin forbid he lose track of a gift from Malfoy--he’d the feeling he’d never hear the end of it! “Or not. Malfoy’s not Justin, Hermione. Or at least I hope he’s not.”

“It is really, Harry,” Hermione insisted, capturing his elbow and yanking him into line between her and Ron. “Well, come on, then. We can discuss what you’re going to do about it on the way. We’ll be late otherwise. Put those in your pocket so you don’t lose them, will you?”

 _“_ Okay,” Harry agreed, and very deliberately did not ask Hermione why Hermione she hadn’t Vanished his ‘suspicious’ sweets. Some questions, he figured, were better left unasked.

* * *

Fleeing to Library during the twenty minutes allowed before lunch promised to gain Harry a moment of much needed space for contemplation… but only just the moment, for Malfoy appeared from absolutely nowhere a’tall the moment Hermione and Ron peeled off to ask after a reference she wanted from Madam Pince.

Harry had gratefully continued on, ducking onto the stacks as soon as he could, aiming to go to ground in the Restricted Section, but then there was Malfoy, blocking him in.

“Harry, hullo,” he greeted Harry sedately enough, yet still stalking ever closer, elbowing aside a jutting grimoire and a stray lectern rather roughly as he advanced. “What luck, right? It’s time, you know.”

“Time for what exactly, Malfoy?” Harry objected weakly, even as Malfoy captured his wrist and proceeded to haul him right up close up to his immaculately robed person. “I mean, what are you even doing, running about all morning and kissing me? Giving me odd posh sweets? _Thanking_ me, for fuck’s sake? Why would you even—“

“Number Four, of course. Do shut it, Potter; this is a library,” Malfoy ordered, setting his jaw firmly. “We’ve only a moment. Let’s make the most of it, yeah?”

Harry did just as requested when Malfoy inexorably drew him closer, wrapping his tense body up in two wiry arms. And he ‘shut it’ by dint of his own unruly jaw dropping quite abruptly when Malfoy dipped his sleek head down just so and brushed his well-cut lips across the pulse point beating so heavily at his throat.

“Oh!” There, right bloody there! Harry groaned in bliss, for once again there bloomed the lovely _frisson_ of Draco’s magic meeting and entangling with his own. Because that was a Thing now, just today; he’d noticed it earlier but especially now the utterly smashing effects hit him hard, like a unexpectedly tropical current in chilly Northern seas. “Mmmm, Draco!”

That wicked tongue slurped lovingly into the hollow of Harry’s collarbone, rendering him nearly boneless.

“Steady on, Harry. I’ve got you.”  Harry was glad to hear it, as he certainly didn’t!

‘Course, Harry had thought it was merely his imagination at first, and then he’d thought it was Malfoy’s cologne. And _then_ he’d thought perhaps the chocs Malfoy kept giving him--and which he kept eating, however foolishly--were perhaps enchanted. In fact, Harry had thought any number of things, many of them completely outrageous, but none of them made the slightest bit of sense when compared to the pattern of Malfoy’s actions. Or rather the pattern of his action’s effects upon _Harry_.

So, no. It was none of that, really. It was just...just Malfoy. Malfoy’s magic. Up close and personal and very much tangling around Harry’s own. A simple chemical-magical combination, nothing more, nothing less.

Of course, the other alternative was that Draco fancied him.

“Oi!” Harry yelped, wrenching himself straight out of Malfoy’s arms. “What in bloody Merlin’s Beard is happening here, Malfoy?”

“Pardon?”

“ _I_ ,” Harry repeated, collecting his jaw for the third time that day and taking up a distinctly combative stance. “I… _don’t_ understand, Malfoy.”  Somehow, it felt very excruciatingly important to make that clear--his confusion. “You need to explain this to me. Right. Fucking. Now.”  

“Oh. Alright.” Malfoy simply smiled at him. Not disdainfully, which was good. Not even mockingly, which was better, but he then didn’t explain anything either, which was not so good. “Hmm, let’s see. That was four, Potter... Harry. _Harry_.” Molten grey eyes sparkled at Harry, a mischievous light in them completely setting all Harry’s somewhat nebulous forward intentions to force a confrontation fully awry. “And I think you know very well why. Don’t even require Granger to explain it to you.”

“Er, say again? I do know?” Harry narrowed his eyes at his tormentor, arching a very ironic eyebrow. He brushed his flopping fringe out of his eyes, possibly revealing his famous scar on purpose. Possibly not. In any event, Draco’s gaze flickered there for an instance and his smirk slipped. Harry smirked instead, satisfied. “Do I now? Because I’m not so sure about--”

“Oh yes, _I’m_ sure of it,” Malfoy insisted, nodding conspiratorially. His smile reappeared, but it was softer this time ‘round. Teasing, like. “You might be speccy, Harry, but you’re a knowing chap, really. Given time.” Malfoy outright grinned. “Inclination. And--”

“Go on,” Harry prompted.  

“And the proper motivation.” He gave a Harry a cheeky little slap on his hip; Harry only just noticed another silvery cascade of sweets slyly dumped into his robe’s pocket. “Right-ho. Must dash! Catch you later, Potter.”

* * *

Lunch was thankfully peaceful. Happily dull. Beautifully boring.

Harry shoveled peas and mash onto his plate and gnawed singlemindedly at his juicy chop, the one he’d managed to nick just before Ron lunged for it. Ron and Hermione were likewise occupied and nary a word was uttered as to Malfoy’s interesting new ‘hobbies’. In fact, no one said much of anything to Harry, excepting the occasional “Pass the gravy, please!” or “Oi, more peas over here!”

All the remarkable lack of attention provided Harry an amazingly uninterrupted period to stare at Draco Malfoy, who was just as staidly forking his lunch down his attractively lovely pale throat.

Harry nonetheless finished up quickly and breathed out a silent sigh of relief at the end of it, gathering up his things and preparing to follow his best mates off to the first of their afternoon classes, Transfigurations. Which he shared with Malfoy, as all the Eight Years followed the same schedule. A telescoped one, to be sure, with shorter periods and more independent study but still, as Harry was ruefully aware, there was to be no reprieve until bed curtains were drawn.

This far, Harry felt he’d been relatively fortunate. Yes, Malfoy was importuning him. Or teasing him. Or possibly sincerely courting him.  Harry frowned, shrugging to himself. Whatever. But no one had noticed it--well, other than Ron and Hermione, which was a given, really--and that was key. Absolutely crucial for Harry’s comfort level. For when Hermione had asked him if recalled the Justin Finch-Fletchley incident, Harry had barely repressed a horrified shudder. Of course he recalled it! And he sincerely wished that Flitwick would get to the Smaller Self-Obliviate Spells Section sooner rather than later! Ugh!

But, thing was, Harry was fairly sure he could manage a duck-and-run if his kissing-chocolate-orange-scented nemesis tried anything else on in public. Especially if he stuck like Spellotape to his familiar Ron-and-Hermione unit. Which he did do, and they all joined the queue to exit the Great Hall, and it seemed as it was to be clear skies ahead--Harry was even breathing easier--until he got trapped exactly between the doors of the Great Hall.

Which, naturally enough--and how could Harry forget this always happened? He must've been truly distracted--were bottle-necked by the crush of exiting students. Upon which fateful moment Malfoy accosted him, absolutely shamelessly.

“Harry! Harry Potter!” he called out, quite unnecessarily loudly, swooping in unerringly. “Oi, Harry--over here! Right behind you, Harry.”

“M-Malfoy?” Harry sputtered, spinning ‘round like a Muggle top. “What, you _again_?”

“Of course me, Potter,” replied the pale-eyed transgressor flatly, not hesitating a moment before pressing his disapprovingly pursed lips charmingly against Harry’s cheek. Quite, quite deliberately in full view of everyone. 

“Merlin, Draco,” Harry groaned, closing his eyes in despair as every other set of eyes in the room and out managed to unerringly discover them both, standing about _en flagrante_. “Bloody hell. Couldn’t this wait? At least till we were in class?”

“No, Harry. This is number five, and that’s an important number.” Draco shook his silver-white head as he withdrew it, rearing back just a bit and cocking his chin curiously at Harry, rather like some great bloody egret upon discovering a new species of tasty minnow. He regarded Harry’s flush with serious interest. “A lot happened in Fifth Year and most of it was my fault, one way or another. I just wanted to make it very clear I am sorry.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Very much so.” Draco smiled finally, a real smile growing slowly from the barest curl of lips, evidently pleased to have captured Harry’s full attention. “And I’m sorry as well that it’s taken me so long to say it, Harry. I hope you will forgive me? I was an idiot and arse back then; you were hurt because of me, and for that I am so, so sorry. But I’m different now. At least I hope I am. I know I _feel_ things differently.”

“...Oh?”

“ _Yes_.”

All about them motion had ceased entirely. Except for a few scattered gasps and excited whispers, it was if the entire student body had been slammed by a giant Petrificus Totalus. Harry paid them no mind, completely caught up with trying to interpret the meaningful Looks Draco Malfoy was giving him. There were several, and each was different again, but every one of them was so sincere Harry could practically taste it. His heart thumped in his chest, desperately playing catch-up to his brain, frantically trying to forward it sufficient oxygen so it could process.

“But I suppose you may’ve already guessed that." Draco nodded politely, stepping back, ready to slip away through the immobilized crowd. "Right, I'll see you in class, Harry.”

“Criminey, mate!” Ron’s voice intruded sharply, piercing Harry’s fog as he fetched up beside him. “Way to go on keeping things on the low-down with Malfoy! Merlin, come _on_. Let’s get you out of here.”  

“It’s ‘down-low’, Ron,” Hermione scolded, magically appearing at Harry's other elbow, “but you’re right. We can’t stay here.”

It took both Ron and Hermione to wrestle Harry’s unresponsive self through the hallways, so completely was he sunk in cogitation over the emergence of this new—and incredibly sweet—Draco Malfoy.

“Harry, mate,” he vaguely heard Ron telling him as he was summarily shoved along their usual communal bench. “While I realize you’re the shy sort and all that, keep yourself to yourself when it comes to this sort of thing, can’t kiss a bint without her crying, not even my own little sister, but really—really, you can tell us anything, Harry. We won’t hate you or anything, not even if it’s Malfoy.”  

“Really, you can,” Hermione added bracingly, plopping herself down on Harry’s other side. “Even if it’s Malfoy, Harry, it really is okay. We’re all fine with it, right, Ronald?”

“Really, Hermione? You’re sure about that? Really, really, Ron?” Harry looked past her to Ron, who nodded reassuringly. His expression was a bit strange, Harry noted, but then he supposed he probably also sported a fairly weird look on his own face. He certainly should be; his last little remnant of leftover Malfoy-dislike had been pretty much exploded.

Bloody hell, Harry thought, mind spiraling instantly, inevitably back to the latest shock of his day. Draco had actually meant it. A genuine, honest-to-Merlin apology.

“He meant that, you know,” he told Hermione. “He really, really did.”

Now all three of them sported strange expressions. “Okaaay, Harry. Whatever you say.”

“I should stop, actually.” Ron and Hermione looked at him, blankly. “Saying ‘really’," Harry explained helpfully. "It’s starting to make my head ring.”

“That’s the bell, Harry,” Hermione advised kindly. “But maybe you ought go off to the Infirmary?”

“Pardon, pardon, ‘scuse me please, thanks; sorry!" Malfoy, having come barging through the classroom door spot on the final tone, executing a neat right-hand turn on his heel, and ending up with a determined march straight down the Trio’s particular bench without pausing, carefully kneed-and-elbowed his way straight into the midst of the distracted Trio. "Oof! Budge up a little, will you please, Granger? And you too, Weasley? Sorry if I clipped you with my bag, coming in in such a rush; I was unavoidably detained by Lovegood.”

He eased his angular height right in-between Harry and Ron without further adieu, settling himself carefully upon the cramped bench before the lecture hall door had even shut fully behind him. By some miracle of Merlin, Professor McGonagall hadn't even noticed a bit of it. “Oh, thanks very much, Ronald; that's quite civil of you,” he went on confidingly, shooting a conspiratorial smile at Harry. “Look, sorry for cutting in but I really just wanted to sit here, next to Potter. You two as well, of course. I’ve something to say, and although I’ve Owled you both, I’ve recently felt I should say it in person.”

“Wha?” Ron gurgled.

“Malf!” Hermione gasped.

“Merlin! Here we go,” Harry muttered, frowning obliquely at the oblivious Malfoy beside him. He could already feel the awkward, creeping upon them all. “He’s going to bloody ruin it now, isn’t he? He is, damn it.”

Malfoy showed no sign of heeding Harry whatsoever, his attention fully directed at Harry’s two red-faced friends.  

“I’m sorry, just so you know, for being a prat all these years. The things I said and did, most of them were pretty atrocious. I was an utter arse, and stupidly dogged about it, and I do hope you’ll forgive me and let bygones be bygones? I’ll understand if you can’t but I hope you do. I’m hoping to deepen my acquaintance with Harry here, and I don’t want to cause a fuss between the three of you. Thank you for hearing me out; I’ll be glad to wait upon your decision.”

"Well, that's it, over with. I suppose I just needed to say it." Not waiting in the slightest for Ron or Hermione's reactions, Draco turned immediately to Harry, bearing a beaming sort of smile, the same sort of smile he’d used so beguilingly earlier. “Hey, Harry. Did you finish the assignment? I did, but by the skin of my teeth. Someone has all the Dalrymple Guides to Environmental Enchantment out of the Library, did you know?" He arched a teasing brow. "Hmm, I wonder who that could be.”

“Ngh-uh!” Harry managed, mostly intelligibly, mainly because he was also nodding furiously. “Why, y-yes, it’s---it’s—it’s right here! Mine, I mean.”

He dove into his book bag and had himself a fast scrabble around in the Wizarding space Hermione had sneakily installed there. Triumphant, he whipped out his parchment and shoved it down onto the table, face down. It was better that way, as then Malfoy wouldn’t immediately notice all those Dalrymple references Harry had included. At Hermione’s direction, naturally.

“Er, w-why do you ask?” he stammered, not knowing what else to do but carry on with the conversation he’d been thrust into. Anything was better than actually looking past Draco and meeting the knowing gazes of either of his two best friends. “Um, d-did you?”

“Well, naturally,” Malfoy drawled, leaning back and perfectly at ease, affecting not to take notice of any of the gaggle of gawping Gryffindors about them. Slytherins, too. Parkinson was quietly sniggering to herself, Harry noticed, just over in the corner. “I just said I had, didn’t I? Despite Dalrymple. Anyway, I want to apply to Aurors when we’re finished here, so I really need to keep up my marks. NEWTS are even more crucial when you’ve got spots on your life-blotter, don’t you agree? So, Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve heard from various sources that’s your plan as well, joining the Aurors. Is it true?”

“Yes, actually,” Harry replied, feeling far more at ease upon the introduction of this subject. Aurors was something he could still get excited about. He knew he’d be good at it and Merlin knew, there was a  need. And it somehow wasn’t surprising at all that Draco Malfoy would want to take that up as a career. Harry remembered ever so well the look in Draco’s eyes back at the Manor, both when he’d refused to recognize Harry and then when he’d let his wand go with barely a struggle. “I’m a little bit worried about Potions, though, and Runes. I never was all that good at  either of those.”

“Well, I’m sure I can help you,” Draco replied, giving Harry’s side a friendly bump with one sharp elbow. “And you can help me with some things as well. The Patronus spell, for example. I could really use a little coaching on that one. I’ve not got a lot of happy memories, at least not recently. Although,” he added much more quietly, “today has been a great deal nicer than I ever expected.”

It was both strange to Harry and also not at all strange that he and Malfoy fell into a fairly easy, albeit muttered and sporadic, given McGonagall’s occasional sweeping glares, conversation over Aurors. And then, when that was exhausted for the moment, they turned to gossip over the career choices of their friends. Parkinson, it seemed, strived to become a Healer and had already Owled St Mungo’s about the requisite training. Hermione was all set to go on to Flamel Uni, and Blaise Zabini had decided that professional curse breaking was his goal in life.

“Well, that or banking,” Draco hissed confidingly, leaning into Harry, a warm bulk by his side. “But he really doesn’t care much to learn Gobblygook. Says it pains his tongue. Which it shouldn’t, really, since one of his step-fathers was probably half. Certainly had the temper of a Goblin, if you ask me.”  

Harry was pretty sure it was because he and Malfoy knew each other so very well; seven years of boarding school spent together was a pretty revealing experience, after all. He relaxed considerably, perhaps even more than he should’ve, musing to himself that perhaps all this kissing on Malfoy’s part had been a shocking but harmless ploy, just so he and Harry could make amends and find an even keel together. After all, it was the very bitter end of January and it was rather more than past time for _that ._

“Hey, Harry.”

So, still smiling over some charmingly acid comment Malfoy had let slip about Slughorn, Harry was completely unprepared for Malfoy’s next kiss—a slow and delightfully gentle laying of lips against his scar, bestowed just before the two of them rose up to leave the quieted classroom. They'd somehow ended up alone there; Ron and Hermione and the rest had all gone on ahead, following a bustling Headmistress, leaving Harry and Draco behind.  

“Oh!” Harry breathed, for it felt lovely, that caress, like an unexpected balm. No one ever touched his scar, though they all still stared at it, just as much as ever. “Oh.”

“Six, Harry,” Draco murmured, his lips lingering, straying across Harry’s forehead. “That was six, every one of them more than adequate, and I look do forward to more. And that was for the memory of what I really wanted to do to you but never _could_.”

He was up and gone out of the room before Harry could even squeak or gape at him, but Harry didn’t mind at all. Or so he found, slumping back hard onto the wooden bench. He touched his slightly dampened scar gingerly, prodding it with a curious fingertip. It still felt lovely, that kiss lingering like some sort of Calming charm.

Harry sighed. He’d some more thinking to do, it seemed, and thinking was growing exponentially more difficult every time he came across Draco Malfoy and his brilliant mouth. He only just noticed the little pile of Hershey’s chocs Draco had left behind him, stacked pyramid-style right atop his haphazard notes.

“The Pitch,” he informed the emptied classroom, coming abruptly to a decision as he sprang to his feet. “I’m going to the Pitch, and fuck CoM-Cee right off. Hagrid shan’t care if I skive this once.”

* * *

Taking to the frigid but refreshing air of a sunny January early afternoon was, well, exactly the sort of thing Harry’s spinning head seemed to require.

A bit lonely, maybe, he thought as he zoomed about, mostly aimlessly travelling back and forth between the end posts. But more than adequate for a good, hard Think. If by ‘thinking’ he meant dwelling hazily over the remembered touch of lips to skin. Malfoy’s lips, too, and that was the corker.

But it really wasn’t so, so shocking. After all, hadn’t he and Malfoy been making eyes at one another for absolute ages now? Well, at first it was archenemy eyes but then recently…Oh, and hadn’t Malfoy--?

“Harry, _there_ you are,” interrupted that same bedamned bloke preoccupying all of Harry’s thoughts. “Thank Merlin I thought to Shrink my broom before I left for breakfast this morning. You are a hard chap to keep tabs on, you know? Are all Auror trainees this good at Concealment?”

“Whoa- **_ho_ ** !” Harry pulled up hard on his broom handle, causing it buck wildly as he yanked his mind out of the proverbial rosy clouds and came face-to-face with a blinding smirk. “Where in the bloody fuck did _you_ come from?”

Malfoy regarded Harry innocently, hovering just a foot off Harry’s bristle-end, perched insouciantly astride his own top-notch model.

“Care of Magical Creatures, of course,” he replied, sensibly enough. He wagged an admonitory finger at Harry. “Naturally, when I noticed you out the window, I had to make my abrupt excuses. But, as I mentioned, just now,” he smirked, gesturing at his own broom, “fortunately I do have the advantage of having studied all your habits for years now. A trait, may I mention, also of significant use to an Auror trainee. Observation, Potter.”

“Awk,” Harry gurgled. “Fine.” Because yes, that was true. As was the opposite. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

“Absolutely fine. As is the weather; no wonder you wished to fly. Now, the question is, what are you doing up here, all on your own?” Malfoy’s eyes narrowing to inquisitive squints. “If it’s brooding, then please don’t trouble your tiny mind; all will be revealed with the simple passage of time. I’m here now.”

“Ah?” Harry cranked up a skeptical eyebrow, collecting himself fully. “Honestly, Malfoy, I was just getting a little exercise, obviously. A healthy, active body is also a trait for a Auror trainee. And who ever said I was brooding? Because I wasn’t. Not at all.”

“Nonsense, Harry, of course you’re brooding. I know I’d be.” Malfoy smiled sweetly, flapping an immaculate robe’s sleeve at him. “Fancy a quick round of Seekers instead? Come on—you know you want to, Harry. I brought my best Snitch as well as my broom. Right, here we go.”

Not waiting for Harry to say yea or nay, Malfoy flung up a practice snitch he must have had hidden up his sleeve all along, instantly focusing all of Harry’s wits upon the exigencies of tracking it.

“On my mark,” he announced casually, wheeling his broom about so they sat at  level with each other, knees just inches apart. Close enough that Harry could feel his body heat, close enough to become a little entranced by the sunlight causing frozen sparkles to dance across Malfoy’s sheaf of ice-white hair. More than near enough for Harry to get a nice whiff of citrus-and-chocolate.  “Ready? And…one, two, three— **_Go_ **!” he whooped, taking off like a shot.

With a burst of visible intensity, the little snitch went suddenly wild, a hyperactive bauble, instantly claiming the attention of both Seekers. Harry and Malfoy each froze for the merest instant, before zooming off in separate directions, spinning with deft eddies and hairpin pirouettes as the snitch dodged and feinted, farther and farther off each time.

Would it go up or would it swoop down? Left, right or dead-centre? There was a slight breeze coming in off the lake; would that affect its flight? What about the cross-breeze bending about the towering stands or the well of ever so slightly less frigid air rising off the pitch? All of these questions poured through Harry’s head in a cascade of excitement; the day was glorious and perfect for a friendly game. He glanced over at Draco, currently aping his every move, and silently blessed him for his forethought in bringing along his broom and the snitch.

“Oh--shit! Go, Draco--or get out of my way!”

“Ho! There she goes!” Draco shouted, and took a futile swipe at the passing tease that was the snitch. “Damn it all to Hades!”

Harry snickered, knowing full well it was too far a reach, and watched smiling as it continued to elude his fellow Seeker. He held his fire, his  eyes narrowed as they darted after the blur, his head bobbed as a falcon’s did, eyeing up its prey; he caught Draco doing the same from his latest position over by the Slytherin bleachers. They each looped and  scudded, always keeping an eye upon each other, always keeping another out for that slightest glimpse of whirring wings and occasionally shouting out to each other when the snitch was particularly tricky.

It was great fun, a bang-up half hour. Relaxing, in that there was really no pressure to win, only a chance to do what they both loved—and that was yet another thing they had in common, Harry concluded. Alike to the covert watching of each other, akin the continuous struggles they’d each suffered, seeking  to do _the right thing_ , even while being gaslighted by the so-called adults in their respective lives. But this, this was good, this was freedom. It was exhilarating and a much better way to spend stolen time than Harry had ever imagined.

“Oi, I’ve got to stop now, Harry.” Draco waved an arm at Harry, startling him out of his reverie. “We’ll miss supper entirely if we keep on.” He drew his wand out and gestured in the general area of where the snitch had last been sighted. “I don’t know about you but I’m famished.”

“Oh.” Harry drew nearer Malfoy and watched carefully. “Yes, I suppose so.” Truth was, Harry was rather full of chocolate. And he’d always only ever caught snitches, never Summoned one, so this latest antic of Draco’s was quite interesting.  A sudden whistling noise, followed by the solid thunk of magical metal into Draco’s open palm elicited another startle ‘Oh!” out of Harry, this time of admiration.

“There, that’s it.” Draco smiled down at his fist in satisfaction. He pocketed the snitch and glanced over to where Harry hovered, uncertain. “Well? Shall we?”

They landed, Malfoy leading the way and very business-like about it. He immediately shouldered is broom and led the way off the Pitch and towards the school proper.

“Erm…?” Harry, trotting a little faster to keep up, managed to hold his peace for a moment until it grew too much, his curiosity. He simply had to ask. “Malfoy? Draco? Did you…did you come find me just to play a Seeker’s game? Was that your only reason? Or--or did you maybe, um. Forget something?”

“Excuse me?” Malfoy halted so abruptly Harry nearly ran pell-mell into him. He pivoted on one heel, subjecting Harry to a censuring glare. “Why would you even ask that? I’m not particularly forgetful, Potter.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond that he’d just…just had a feeling. But something stopped him mid-inhale. He knew that particular look: that silvery gleam, that sleek arching eyebrow, that tell-tale twitch of a thin upper lip. Draco Malfoy was teasing him!

“Fuck right off, Draco.”

“Oh, sorry,” Malfoy said smoothly, “did I confuse you as to my intentions, Harry? I didn’t mean to, you know.” With an elegant gesture, he helped himself to the hand Harry had available, the one not gripping his broom handle, and brought it quickly to his lips. The hot damp pressure was all too brief. Harry frowned. “That’s seven, Harry. Lucky number seven. And here you go.” He produced a handful of chocolates and deposited them in Harry’s palm, making certain to carefully fold Harry’’s fingers about the pile. “Seven of those as well. Right, all done then. Is that what you were wanting for, perchance?”

“…Um,” Harry mumbled, staring down first at his besmooched hand, his not-terribly-exciting sweets, then at his damp, scuffed boots and then, finally, at the ground. “Um.”

“Sorry?”

It was treacherous where they were, all frozen mud and dirtied snow, likely left over from the last match played before Christmas hols. The restored equipment shed was just by the way and he let his eyes rest upon its peaceful rustic little roof while he assiduously avoided glancing anywhere near Malfoy’s expectant gaze.

“You alright there, Harry?”

He wasn’t sure what he should say to that. ‘What he was wanting’? How was he to know what he wanted, really? It wasn’t as though he’d wanted Draco Malfoy to kiss him—although it seemed he certainly wasn’t averse!—or had ever gone out of his way to solicit intimacies from the irritating chap. It was just, now that precedent had been set, as it were, _yes_. Yes, he did rather want some more. Bit addictive, chocs and kisses.

It was nice, being kissed. Nicer, somehow, when it was Draco Malfoy doing the kissing.

Harry looked up, met those eyes he knew so very well. They were smiling, genuinely enough and no mistake. Harry released the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. _Steady on, Harry_ , he thought. _Steady on_.

“Not quite, actually.” He took a breath. “ _Draco_.”

“No?”

It wasn’t quite a whisper and it wasn’t quite a purr, but Draco’s response was certainly rich with insinuation. If ever a ‘no?’ sounded like a ‘yes!’, it was this one.

“Er, no,” Harry went on, encouraged and doggedly latching onto the thread of enquiry he’d sorted out in his head: he _was_ rather owed another kiss at this point and it should be of rather higher snog intensity than just a simple buss to the back of his hand! “I mean— _yes_. I mean, I was expecting you to—you to—“

“So…Yes is what you’re saying to me?” Draco prompted, edging ever closer, so that Harry really had to tilt his head back in order to look him in the eye. And who knew Draco Malfoy could manage a twinkle? “To what, Harry? Exactly.”

“This! Bloody bastard!” Harry burst, and went for it.

“Nine!” Draco sneaked out before he captured Harry’s willing mouth. And then again. Quick nipping kisses that teasingly feinted about the main event. Harry growled, butting his eager face forward. “Um, ten--that’s ten.”

“I’ll give you ten!” Harry snarled, and stuck his lips firmly onto Draco’s with as much force as a Sticking Spell. “Up your arse, maybe!”

“Ooh, kinky!”  

They both stumbled, brooms falling unheeded, but kept their balance mainly by dint of pressing more closely together, hip to hip, chest to chest, with Draco angling his sharp, smoothly shaven jaw just so in an effort to plunge his tongue ever deeper down Harry’s eager maw. Harry reciprocated best as he could, clutched at Draco’s slippery hair till he got a good handful. Something Draco seemed to like very much, as he shoved a leg in between Harry’s and turned them about, so as to take advantage of the shed wall’s support. His shoulder ricocheted off the frame of the open doorway as they tumbling and twisting, nearly sending them sprawling onto the rough planking floor.

“Ungh, mmmh, ‘leven….yeah, that’s it, Harry—twel-ell!...fwah!”

“Fucking--bloody--falling, Malf--”

“Shit, yes, okay. Got you, Potter. I’ve got you, no fear.”

Draco righted them, shoving Harry up against the shadowy interior wall, and went at kissing Harry with a vengeance, all teasing vaporized into heat.

“Thirteen, fourteen,” he snarled and grasped Harry’s arse like a man dying. :”Fiff-fucking-teen!”

Harry saved his breath for kissing, not counting.

“S-six!” Draco stuttered, and guided them in a haphazard fashion to the long bench the Quidditch players all used for changing. They all but collapsed on it, a mess of mutual flail and saliva. “Sixtee--fuck, Harry. Get your hand on my cock, will you?”

“S-sex?” Harry ripped his mouth away and grabbed at Draco’s damnably high cheekbones with desperate clawing hands. He stared at him, well aware he likely resembled a loon but not really giving a flying fuck. Also--the counting? The counting was annoying and it had to stop. And the only way to stop a Malfoy, as Harry knew by experience, was to out-clever them. “Ooooh! Did you just say sex, Malfoy? Cause if you did, I’m all for it. Count me in.”

“Oh gods, oh Merlin, oh…” Draco moaned, his own eyes pretty wide and wild, the silver swallowed up entirely by black. Harry did have his hand on Draco’s cock, ta, and it was clearly appreciative of the favour. “Oooh, you mean that, Harry? Really, really?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry nodded furiously. “Definitely really really.”

His hands slipped down to Draco’s shoulders, narrowly preventing them both from toppling over. They’d landed in a heap somehow, Harry half-sprawled across Draco’s lap, and he could feel pressing against his thigh Draco’s erection, straining. It was only matched by his own, which was twinging urgently at him.

“Yeah, abso-fucking-lutely, I mean that. Merlin’s pants, Draco, we’re eighteen!”

“Oh!”

Draco blinked, going still as a stone-struck Troll, his long fingers wrapping themselves around Harry’s wrists. He took a shuddering breath. Harry stared at him, abruptly concerned.

“That’s right.”

He let his breath out slowly, ever so slowly, as if deflating. Harry, fascinated by the movement of those kiss-dampened lips, had to strictly control his primal urge to just say ‘fuck it’ to the universe and get on with the snogging and dick-grabbing. Let the whatever-was-next take care of itself.

But...he didn’t.  

He waited, his pulse hammering madly in his throat, minutely aware of the tiny tremors running through the body of the very odd, very Draco Malfoy-ish body he was entwined with. There was something, something going on with Draco Malfoy, and Harry--perpetually curious about anything and everything that ever went on with Draco Malfoy--was bloody well willing to wait until that same git Draco Malfoy actually told him what it was. For once in his life, Harry even believed this was possible.

“Eighteen, isn’t it,” Draco said softly, nodding slightly--to himself, mayhap. Harry frowned up at him, not quite grasping what was happening or the significance of the number. He was mostly glad not to be disappointed. “It reminds me; I should inform you,” Draco continued helpfully, lips lifting upwards in a half-smile. “It’s your half-birthday today, Harry. I...missed your seventeenth, sadly. But half-birthdays are nearly just as good, aren’t they? I wanted to give you a present, you know.”

“You did?”

“Um-hmm,” Draco said. He bent his head, just enough to press his lips against Harry’s knuckles, and chuckled. It sounded rueful to Harry’s ears, but what did he know, really? Before today, he’d not had much of a chance to spend a lot of time with Draco Malfoy the person. “Yeah, I did. Thought it was proper, you know? Serendipity and stars aligning and all that. Heighten my chances.”

“Your chances?”

“Yes, and yours too. You watch me, you know? And I watch you too.”

Harry blushed, straight out, a red, red tide that overwhelmed him. ‘What of it, Malfoy?” he shot back, teetering on the edge of antagonism. “It’s not like I didn't have good reason to.”

Draco smiled wider, seemingly unoffended. “Oh, I know,” he agreed. “Bad lot, us Slytherins. But that doesn’t change the fact you’re still looking at me, Harry, and it doesn’t change the fact I’m still looking at you. All of that looking has to mean something, don’t you think?”

“Have you been talking to--to Parkinson about this?” Harry demanded, yanking his wrists out of Malfoy’s grasp and folding his arms huffily across his chest. Because he’d been talking to Hermione, and--well, sort of. It was more she’d talked at him and he’d nodded and run away as fast as possible. “Or--or someone? Because this doesn’t sound a bit like you, Malfoy! You would never admit that--that--!”

Harry stopped abruptly, mainly because he couldn’t seem to finish a sentence, but also because Draco kissed him. Again.

“Seventeen,” he said, drawing back ever so slowly, trailing his lips across Harry’s hot cheek on the way. His eyes glittered and it was beguiling, and pretty much the one thing Harry could manage to focus on. “Nearly there, right? So, yes. And no, I haven’t. At least not Pansy. I had the idea, you see,” he continued, ever so confidingly, even fond. Harry jerked his dazed head in a little nod of acknowledgement. He’d had those too, the ideas, and now look where they’d brought him--right? Right?

Here in the bloody Quidditch shed, half draped over Draco Malfoy, is what. With a pocket full of chocs and a head full of unexpected kisses, is what.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered, glancing away. “You had an idea. Go on.”

“My idea, if you follow, is that you and I have been looking at each other pretty much since we met, Harry Potter, and that,” and here Draco laid a hand across the bulge of Harry’s persistent stiffie, which had shown absolutely no signs abating, and caressed it. “And that, while it may’ve been because  we sort of wanted to kill each other at one time, lately it’s been because of something quite different.” He shrugged, in a ‘you’ll have this’ fashion, causing Harry to flinch.

He was a welter of conflicting emotions, he realized, and then was struck by the fleeting thought Hermione would be proud of him--for realizing, of course, not for the welter.

Harry shook his head, clearing it. This was important, and he needed to pay attention. He’d done a lot with his head this day, what with shaking it, and having it kissed, and then also the random feeling of spinning, but now he really needed to focus. Really centre his energies of sorting out what was going on with Malfoy. It wasn’t as if Malfoy had explained himself earlier, and a fellow should know why he was being smooched by a previous arch-enemy, shouldn’t he?

“Something a lot more like affectionate lust, Potter, and a lot less like murder.”

Harry nodded distractedly at that, glancing down at Draco's hand, laid quite possessively across the outline of his cock and cradling it,  warming it even through the fabric. Yes, lust--check. He was on board with lust. He snuck a peek over at Draco’s trousers and was pleased to see a similar ridge of flesh disturbing the clean lines of posh trousers. Brilliant. It was mutual.  

He looked back up, and really looked this time, searching for the affection Malfoy spoke of, examining the tousled ruffle of white-blond hair (where Harry must’ve run his fingers), the dampened red of lips (which he’d probably bitten and nibbled at), the crinkling of pale skin around those same lips and also Draco’s eyes, very dark with pupil and very intently focussed on Harry. They were warm. They were smiling. To all intents and purposes, Harry concluded, they were fond.

“You fancy me, then.” he blurted, unable to suppress a little shiver of excitement. “You actually fancy me, Malfoy.”

“Uh-huh.”  Draco’s eyes glinted though his darker blond lashes. He squeezed Harry’s cock meaningfully, and his sort of sweet smile morphed into a less gentle leer. He tilted his head, eyeing Harry up and down and petted Harry’s cock like he owned it. “Like fucking mad, Potter.”

“Mum,” Harry offered up, his eyes widening, “told me Ginny had an awfully close resemblance to her. You know, when I was about to die, going into the Forest? She just sort of...mentioned that. In passing.”

“Really?” Draco took on an expression that was all at once gleeful, malicious and foolishly pleased. It did really interesting things to his face. Harry found he appreciated them. “I was wondering about what happened there, Harry. Seemed odd, the Golden Couple not being--”

“A couple,” Harry interrupted. “Yeah, well. I’m not fancying fucking my mum, okay? You, on the other hand…you’re very shaggable.”

“Much obliged, Harry,” Draco laughed, angling himself closer and shifting Harry along the way. “Now, could we maybe crack on with that? Time’s wasting here.”

“Um…” Harry went with the flow, and they slid down and sideways onto the bench. It was cramped and he was vaguely worried about falling off, but it was also nice, being plastered right up close to Draco. “Er?”

“Yeah?” Draco paused, his lips just a hair’s-breadth away from Harry’s, one arm securing Harry, the other one shifting down so he could sneak a hand right back to Harry’s crotch. “What is it, Potter?”

“Why is it, Draco, that you call me Potter one moment and Harry the next? I mean, if we’re going to be--” he waggled his eyebrows meaningfully--”you know, with shagging and snogging and Looking and all, then it’ll be weird if you keep calling me Potter, Draco.”

“Oh, that,” Draco murmured. “I expect it’s the same reason you do it, Harry. ‘Potter’ for when you’re being annoying and an arse or out of habit, ‘Harry’ when we’re like this--” he pressed the kiss Harry had been expected against Harry’s scar instead of his lips, eliciting a half-hearted scowl--”um, that one doesn't count as ‘eighteen’, just so you know,” he admonished Harry. “But, yes, 'Harry';s for affectionate. Fond, even.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded his understanding. That did make sense. “And the chocolates? Where did you even get them? I’ve never seen them before.”

“Those? Those are No-Maj sweets, supposed to be very _ne plus ultra_ amongst the populace. One of Mum’s friends fled to the Colonies during--well, during the War,” he frowned at Harry apologetically, “and she’s been sending them over ever since it’s been safe to send Transatlantic Owls. She called them ‘Kisses’, so I thought--” he kissed Harry’s chin in passing--”no, that still doesn’t count; pay attention, Potter! So, _I_ thought it would be appropriate. For wooing. Tell me, did it work for you? Because it seems as though it may’ve.”

Harry, torn between wanting to pinch Draco for being a facetious arse and wanting to get on with that sure-to-be-momentous eighteenth kiss, grimaced. “Fuck you, kiss me,” he ordered Malfoy. “And shut up.”

And Draco did.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/157446.html).


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